


Tall Order of Frenzy, Desire, and Longing

by PixiePaint



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Potter, Character Turned Into Vampire, Chemistry, Crime, Draco Malfoy is a vampire, M/M, Vampires, a little suggestive, relationships, set after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 19:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16667146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixiePaint/pseuds/PixiePaint
Summary: "It's forbidden-- this-- outlawed by the Minister." He wholly inhaled Harry's scent, purring. "Punishable by the court's effects. Especially for someone like you, Auror Potter.""Don't care." Harry murmured.





	Tall Order of Frenzy, Desire, and Longing

"Potter." He pants and rolls his head back as if to catch a breath. "We mustn't."

"Mustn't…" Harry murmurs, head bent down dangerously, so viciously close to Draco's pale collarbone. He hears the words, repeats them, comprehends them, but… with the way Draco is looking at him right now, like he is a helpless gazelle, with the subtle growling emitting from his ribbed, bloodless throat, with the insatiable and ever-widening night-black pupils-- there's no way in Merlin he'd get it through his brain. Wills and bonds and the public's views weren't something he'd ever considered, and especially not now. If there was a time to give up being stubborn, it was certainly not in this moment, when all he could see and hear were the small, little, incomprehensible whispers Draco was making, the coarse rustling of his shirt combatting with Draco's pointed, grey nails, and the dainty, frequent licking of his lips that he must be doing to drive Harry nearly insane. It was working. Harry's stubby, scarred fingers were everywhere at once, needing everywhere to explore, to feel, to caress and claim. He wished he could touch it all at once-- if he could remember the spell for that, even, but he could barely remember where they were. Draco quickly carded his grown-out, milk-coloured locks behind his ears to his best ability and leaned closer towards Harry until they were quite nearly pressed against the rich-maroon wall.

He smelt of blood and cinnamon apple. A tall order of frenzy, desire, and longing that had been brewing since their first acquaintance-- a menu of muffled glances, pumpkin wine, and well-thought-out snarks. They'd known it was inevitable; it may as well have been a personal prophecy, and it was now clear with the protruding, shimmering fangs, and bitten lips. Inevitable.

"It's forbidden-- this-- outlawed by the Minister." He wholly inhaled Harry's scent, purring. "Punishable by the court's effects. Especially for someone like you, Auror Potter."

"Don't care." He murmured. Bloody hell, where did Draco shop? His black, silk robes were nearly as soft as his skin, smooth ripples of precarious waters and fresh waves of beginnings. He bunched them up in his hand repeatedly, feeling the softness against his calloused fingertips. A cold comfort.

Draco shifted closer, putting a leg in-between Harry's, piercings chiming quietly against their combined heavy breathing and… strained, satisfied sounds. He towered over Harry, lean and daunting, who was secure in the fact of Draco's fierce loyalty. The pallid, emotionless eyes and pointed canines that would never do him harm, never intended to.

"Ah, reckless as ever." Draco's rumbling chuckle was interceded by a lucid bark as Harry nipped at his glassy neck. The peck had no mark, but it served to fire up the clear turbulence in Draco's expression; the grip he had on Harry tightened exponentially.

"Attempting to--"

"Beautiful." It was more of a careless whisper than anything, but Harry's cheeks flushed rose deeply nonetheless. He had still yet to learn to filter through his words-- as if it mattered to Draco. He adored it.

"I beg your pardon, Potter?" There was a teasing smirk on his face as he transferred a hand to brush through the wild locks on the back of Harry's head.

"Nothin'."

"Really?"  
"Mm." He pressed his face further into the juncture of Draco's angular, soothing neck. The frigidity only welcomed him more-- it was a cool relief from the constant friction between them.

"Most intriguing. Because I could have sworn--"

"Nope. Nothing. Noffin' at all--"

"Vampires really don't have perfect hearing then, is it, Potter?"

"That's--"

"Mm."

"It's not like you're the most angelic person to ever grace this world." Harry bit his lip again, red to the brim and almost bursting.

"The most…?"

"Or even the most beautiful I've ever seen. I'd be crazy to say that. A lunatic."

If Draco's heart was functionable, it would be either pumping too fast to count or stopped entirely; he had gone so long without one that he couldn't fathom which. His fangs were growing too long to stay within his mouth; Harry's scent had suddenly become all the more appealing: woodsy, earthy spice, like cedarwood and tree bark, fresh dew, and the burnt cracklings of a fireplace. Staying inside and safe from the sun wasn't in his slightest inhibitions anymore. He licked his lips.

"Oh, darling. I--"

There was a rambunctious melody of footsteps and heels outside; they flew apart at the first step, still breathless and mussed-up, shirts partially unbuttoned, and Harry's glasses forgotten on the floor. Draco itched to return, but he wouldn't risk either of their respective reputations. His fingers twitched, lonely, as Harry tried desperately to regain his breath and natural color (Draco missed the weeping scarlet).

To stop the fidgeting, he glided his hands along the seam of his silk pants, tucked his shirt neatly back in, slid his tongue across his fangs in a futile attempt to retract them. It wouldn't work. There was a roaring in his ears: a steady thrum of beats that he had gone so long without; his adrenaline was running on high, and he was becoming quite a slave to it. Why else would he stride into Harry's office showing off velvet bellbottoms and iridescent wedges at midnoon complaining that it wasn't his fault, blood donors are for people that need it, and he hadn't lived for ten thousand years to die of thirst. Harry sighed and reminded him that he had barely lived over two decades, and that taking half a pint of leftover blood from the donor van wasn't exactly his division's concern, but he continued with the fanatics anyway.

It's not as if that wasn't the case today; his silk robes were not only a Fibolli-designed custom speciality, but were the treasurer of a much more entrancing event underneath. He had sauntered in knowing that full well, arms taut and chin raised in the way that was once perceived as intimidating, but now was realized as confidence. The desire to be accepted.

Draco had certainly not missed the tenseness that coiled over Harry the moment he looked up from his work.

Now, however, the clothes were less of a focal point and more of a proud reminder-- he didn't rearrange them perfectly back together. The lining of his edged pants was asymmetrical; his collar dropped down a button or two more than usual; his rings were facing all different directions. And his hair-- well, it was nowhere near coiffed and gelled. It had a touch of Harry: messy, miscellaneous, and well-loved.

"Draco…" murmured Harry, wide-eyed and with hushed frenzy like a golden lab. He was asking for something-- something to do with the too-bare expanse of his jugular, the resolute, rushed veins in his arm, the something that he couldn't name but they both understood. Neither knew the question. However, the answer…

Draco needn't reply; he gave a small, coy smile, and listened to the echoing halls. The lack of echoes.

His sharp ears perked up, searching for anything that might give him a valid reason not to rush over and entangle them again in the wonderful, destiny-like delirium that had just been all-encompassing. There was nothing. The steel doorknob was as silent as ever. The browning, fall trees outside were barely whispering against the wind. Only the crisp rustling of Harry's collar being adjusted remained in the air, one noise that both welcomed Draco and distanced him farther from their ardent fever.

"They're gone." He was calmly, almost nostalgically stating a fact. A terribly obvious fact that both of them knew well as the seconds silently trickled by. Harry finished adjusting his collar and was straightening the cuffs, sighing. He didn't acknowledge the weight draping over them. Alternately, he simply continued to arrange himself back into his typical, professional style. Harry didn't seem about to contribute more, so Draco sucked his teeth and did it instead.

"It seems so." Draco dared to take a step forward, shoulders heighted back like an eagle. "We are quite alone once more. I shouldn't hope to say that this is… a hidden rendezvous?"

"Tmm. But, Draco--"

"Yes, Potter?" He enunciated carefully.

"I don't-- I mean, it's just-- I'm sorry, alright? It's my job to not-- this isn't making much sense, but I can't change my mind. Or the regulations. You're here for a misdemeanor. A-- it's a small misdemeanor, not my area of concern, and you are free to leave, okay? I'm sorry."

Draco's hand slowly rose to come and rest under his chin, tilting it sideways as he looked Harry up and down, down and up. He lengthened his posture; his chin upturned, and he peered down from his smooth nose, silver-mixed-ruby almond eyes slitting into an assessing gaze that he knew sent tiny multitudes of shivers up Harry's arms. Harry puffed his chest out, towards Draco, almost intimidating-- Draco barely suppressed a smile. This wasn't a difficult game, nor was it meant to be. Cat chases mouse, wolf hunts chicken, spider webs fly. The Undead and the Auror. Because, even in Harry's obstinate, indelible stance, arms halfway to being folded: his calves trembled with something akin to hope, to promise. His muscles were constricted tight, but not those of imminent fear. More like anticipation-- inevitability. Like a crystal from Trelawney's cupboards, Draco saw curling flashes of his reflection in Harry's eyes, streaky and haughty and oh-so-close. Drawing in nearer. Inciting more warmth, more everything that was twitching under Harry's palm, circling his soles, curving his spine deliciously. He licked his lips slowly, purposely.

The silver chains around Draco's wan neck and chest heated up. Hotness bloomed like eager thorns where his abundance of rings acquainted with skin.

"Sorry for…?"

"It's not proper."

Draco chuckled, rough and heady and husky in a way that only adulthood could supply him with. They were no longer dueling schoolchildren, but aspirant wishers, in a close place not yet defined. This time, they weren't using wands or hexes; it was purely minds and souls. Grown-up, timbers of voice that transferred into Harry's mind like dopamine and satisfaction-- desire.

"Ah, the rules. It must have slipped across my mind. Harry Potter and laws, perfectly matched. Would you like to start a fanclub with me to praise The Ministry?"

"Draco-- ghh, I'm trying to be virtuous. Not break every rule given."

"Need I remind you of what would've happened if you did that back--"

"That was different, and you know it!"  
"'Twas only an example, Potter." He was inching closer, taking meticulous care to note the etched smile lines on Harry's face. He was hopeful-- if he was right, they were both hopeful. Maybe it was inevitable, but Harry had been the one to prove destiny wrong against all odds previously. Draco didn't quite know his view on fate (he had centuries to figure that out), but he certainly wished that if there was a chance of this working, it would. It had to. So much had been building up previously to the climax point, and he had thought it was secured and reached; alas, he was stricken with a challenge once more. Yet… Harry didn't seem too keen on giving up, if his rapidly-swallowing throat and audibly bursting heartbeat were indications.

Draco sniffed the air; Harry's usual delightful scent, purring and loud, was adulterated with something vinous: ambition, infatuation, vigor. The culmination of the concealed zeal Draco had become so expectant of during each of his 'trips' to the Auror Halls.

It might've been a last stand-- doubts, regrets, realization of what was seeking to transpire. Harry was much like he had always been, but with a more heedful perspective. After the Battle-- well, it wouldn't be too difficult of an assumption that he was more wary now. Peaceful times were a sweet, cool relief no-one wanted to disturb.

"An example that-- I don't want to make mistakes. Not with this position. Not…" He absent-mindedly stroked his scar; of course, it was unsaid that he was the Golden One. The Saviour of the Wizarding World. He merely stepped outside, and headlines were made of his support for the ecosystem. If the Chosen One bolsters breathing air, so should we!

And that was also a valid point; he was loyal, aware of his stature, unable to wreck it if it meant controversy. Draco had never been with him in more than an acquaintance (nee nemesis) type of relationship. Harry was steadfast and stubborn to the point of it often being ridiculous, but with that came protection. Likely, he would be committed to a relationship, but--

Possibly not. It could've been a fling. A mixed-up, tumbled, shaked and spilt amalgamation of complex feelings he never intended to harbour or release. Either way. He could be loyal to other services, to other people, to reputations and representations.

Draco didn't want to acknowledge that, but the proximity between them was decreasing, and he desperately wanted to know if he should cross it.

"I could quite likely start quoting romantic Shakespearean poetry right now, or tell you that I don't…" He stumbled in his diction. "Don't quite think that this is a mistake. But…"

Perhaps Harry didn't fancy him. With the majority of their lives spent either blatantly despising or attempting to curse the other, Draco knew that, logically, it shouldn't-- it's not--

He roughly swallowed, collecting his wavy lines of thought. Despite the countless hours he'd pored over his unretractable feelings, the many times he'd formulated a plan to win Harry over, the times he'd given up and contemplated disappearing into the more vampiric lands of the Wizarding World, none were quite right to him now. Didn't seem as practical or suitable as he'd once hypothesized.

But he'd seen the way Harry looked at him-- like a feast during a drought-filled famine, like a shining ore of silver after years of monotonous mining. He needed confirmation. He needed solidity.

Harry frowned.

"Then what is it?"

He didn't have a perfectly articulated response to that. He didn't know the answer, either. Was it love? Was it heartbreak-- or about to be? Was it a mishap and misinterpretation?

Was the answer going to appear suddenly? No. Draco was sure of that more than anything else in his cold, bloodless, lifeless-life.

So, he did the only thing he could, and kissed Harry.


End file.
